I KEEP US IN MY WALLET (NOT MY MIND)

  • these are grainy moments burned into pixels: your laugh, brilliant as i steal a glance; my face, blemished but radiant, even as my hair falls over my face; our nights, your fingers curled loosely around mine, my lips on your shoulder. these are our souls burned and made tangible, lying solidly against my crinkled bedsheets when they slip out of of my treasure trove. but why is it that i cannot remember what exactly we were? these are grainy moments, not in my mind: your laugh, muted; my face, blurred; our nights, ebbed.

 

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO BURY IN HELL

something tells me that the sweet taste of eternal freedom from bigoted fuckers who use triggered like my fears are your fucking joke, chemistry tutorials that i am magically able to do after my lecturer reads out my notes out like Jacob Sartorius’ latest flops, inconsiderate public transport users who scuff my white shoes trying to win musical chair in the 8am rush and a life i care nothing for is what i crave most.

bloody let me burn in my frustration fueled tears like lava running down my cheeks. i am mount vesuvius burying my depression anxiety feelings personality under the influx of D grades over-commitments (un)reasonable homework. my tear tracks are dead springs that come alive, anger hatred despair snaking across my face but i can never conceal this hate in me.